


To Estel

by LeelaLaFleur



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bittersweet Ending, End of an era, Gen, M/M, mortal/immortal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-29
Updated: 2014-08-29
Packaged: 2018-02-15 06:31:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2219358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeelaLaFleur/pseuds/LeelaLaFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unknown observer tells story of proud king and his son, who doomed his kin for love... bittersweet...</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Estel

**Author's Note:**

> So this is the first LOTR story I have ever written... and my first story on this page! YAY! i had previously posted it on other webpage though...
> 
> Disclaimer: *weeps uncontrollably*

To Estel 

The stars are truly beautiful tonight. Their glimmering, pale light pierces through the night skies and falls ever so lightly down until it reaches the golden glow of brightly decorated wooden lanterns, where it slowly fades into the colors of burning fire. My eyes wonder to the ancient trees, and all over the alluring flora of the ever-green gardens of Lotrien; the narcissuses, the wood anemones, the linthras, the phalaenopsises, even the old sassafras tree seems to bloom larger and fuller than usually. So many marvels can one find in the gardens of White Lady. Finally, I spot the most breathtaking one of them. There is no one, who can compare to him, not flowers, not the eternal light of Evenstar. His hair shines the purest color of morning sun; not the one which reflects on the freshly fallen snow in the winter, but the warm one, which brings the first spring days and a new life, and I don’t even have to tell you how clear the crystal blue orbs of his eyes are- you probably know them better than I. Enticing, captivating.

You know, when he was born at the dawn of the Third Age of Arda, Thranduil, the glorious king of the Greenwood the Great, hid him in his arms, away from the prying world torn by famine and death . He would spend countless hours caressing the child, unmoving from the little crate’s side, his eyes fixated into the ones of the newborn. The elven child was the ultimate proof of undying love between the royal pair, but his bearing brought a great sacrifice. The queen was ill, weak at heart, and died of exhaustion soon after. It is said that Valar took her for the world could not contain the grand splendor of the mother and son together. Those were lugubrious times, but the young prince grew quickly and his high-pitched childish laughter soon filled the void in Thranduil’s soul.

Years later, when the prince was mere elfling, an old friend of Thranduil’s visited our Woodland realm. The lord of Rivendell walked gracefully into the palace, and you followed with him, bursting into our quiet lives like an uncontrollable avalanche, bringing a broad variety of ears-shattering noises, and leaving a trail of mud and dirt everywhere you went. You were wild, untamed, cheeky, and so very mortal. You were everything our prince wasn’t, but even then you played together outside of palace late into the night, mingling and intertwining your destinies for good. Perhaps, if I had paid more attention to the youthful games, I could have foretold the change in little princeling’s heart sooner, and maybe, could have prevented the heartbreak lurking in the shadows of this age . But I only realized when I already had the little princeling, who rarely left the safety of palace’s walls, crying and begging me to teach him how to be a warrior- how to be like you. I saw it in his eyes. Since the first day he’s been infuriated with you, your lively soul, indecisive heart, and the hairy mortal body. And more time he spent with you, the deeper Thranduil’s own dislike for you grew. It’s no secret how much the Elvenking despises your kin, the lustful line of Isildur’s heirs, but taking his only son’s heart was a crime to be punished; the last drop of tolerance slowly dripped onto the raggedy edge.

Then, one day, you reached your majority and it was time for you to go pursue your own destiny, leave the safety of elven Lord's realm and be who you were born to be. I could feel young prince’s heart shattering into million pieces like it was nothing more than a crystal sculpture, which has fallen from its rightful place on the trophy shelf and crashed into a cold stone floor far below. But so is life. Just like boys must become men, the exiled prince must become king. 

You know, King of Men, he had never gave up on you. In your absence the young prince spent every waking hour training, with blood and sweat securing his place as one of the best warriors on the face of Arda. Then the news of Elrond's Council came and just as quickly as the prince volunteered, that quickly the king denied that request... Thousand tears were spilled that eve, but when the moon reached its high, the prince came to the gates, dressed in his travel gear, demanding I let him go, and I did. I disobeyed my king, defied my orders and betrayed my kingdom for the beautiful elf. Don’t be mistaken, Estel, I didn’t do it for the honor or the righteousness of the cause, nor do I agree with this bond you share, but the selfish undying love I feel for the prince is ever present and clouds my mind. Since the first time I held the tiny royal bundle of golden hair I fell in love with him. You little mortal heart can never understand the depths of our feelings and what all are we willing to do for the ones we love. I would stand face to face with Morgoth himself just to see him truly happy again. I know he is happy now, because he is with you. But I also can see the pain behind those pure orbs. Even in his young mind he understands this is the end and he misses his father.

Almost instantly my sight wanders to the small alcove hidden far away from everybody's view, high in the tree tops and the lonely figure standing there. Slowly I walk up many stairs to reach the highest loft and join my king, overlooking the grand event.

My eyes scan his jaded face and I realize just how old we are. Centuries? No, millennia. Our time here grows dim, and not even our immortal elven blood can stop the fine wrinkles of the battle long lost from making their way into the curves of our faces. His old majestic posture of the high elven king is replaced by sunken shoulders and weary features. I come closer and he embraces me tight within his arms. No words are spoken; there is no need for greetings or apologies between old friends. He cries silently, out of guilt and sorrow, and I hold him. 

This is our end.

Estel, I know you don’t understand, but I pray to Valar, that you forgive the greedy king of Wood realm, for tonight his most precious gem was stolen from him and he couldn’t do anything about it. Once your bones grow brittle and your beard turns gray, you will leave these lands forever and I know the prince will leave with you. My prince, the last of royal line, will die with you; his body will turn into ashes like yours. I fear the future, because when that day comes the last will of my king will disappear. When Thranduil buries his youngest son, it will be time for us to sail away, leave the Middle Earth and never come back. It will be the end of the history of elves.

So, please, Estel, take care of my prince Legolas for he is the last we have, the last we are.

The seagulls are calling and all is as it should be....


End file.
